She screeched with savage hate and lunged forward again, this time going for Lakshman. Vibhishan rushed to her and caught hold of his rage-maddened sister.
‘Kill them!’ screamed Shurpanakha. ‘Kill them all!’
‘Wait!’ pleaded Vibhishan, stricken with visceral fear. He knew they were outnumbered. He didn’t want to die. And he feared something even worse than death. ‘Wait!’
Ram held up his left hand, his fist closed tight, signalling his people to stop but be on guard. ‘Leave now, prince. Or there will be hell to pay.’
‘Forget what we were told!’ screeched Shurpanakha. ‘Kill them all!’
Ram spoke to a clearly stunned Vibhishan, who held on to a struggling Shurpanakha for all he was worth. ‘Leave now, Prince Vibhishan.’
‘Retreat,’ whispered Vibhishan.
His soldiers began to withdraw, their swords still pointed in the direction of the forest-dwellers.
‘Kill them, you coward!’ Shurpanakha lashed out. ‘I am your sister! Avenge me!’
Vibhishan dragged a flailing Shurpanakha, his eye on Ram. Mindful of any sudden movement.
‘Kill them!’ shouted Shurpanakha.
Vibhishan continued to pull his protesting sister away as the Lankans left the camp and escaped from Panchavati.
Ram, Lakshman and Sita stood rooted to their spot. What had happened was an unmitigated disaster.
‘We cannot stay here anymore,’ Jatayu stated the obvious. ‘We don’t have a choice. We need to flee, now.’
Ram looked at Jatayu.
‘We have shed Lankan royal blood, even if it is that of the royal rebels,’ said Jatayu. ‘According to their customary law, Raavan has no choice but to respond. It would be the same among many Sapt Sindhu royals as well, isn’t it? Raavan will come. Have no doubt about that. Vibhishan is a coward, but Raavan and Kumbhakarna aren’t. They will come with thousands of soldiers. This will be worse than Mithila. There it was a battle between soldiers; a part and parcel of war; they understood that. But here it is personal. His sister, a member of his family, has been attacked. Blood was shed. His honour will demand retribution.’
Lakshman stiffened. ‘But I didn’t attack her. She—’
‘That’s not how Raavan will see it,’ interrupted Jatayu. ‘He will not quibble with you over the details, Prince Lakshman. We need to run. Right now.’
Chapter 32
They had been on the run for thirty days. Racing east through the Dandakaranya, they had moved a reasonable distance parallel to the Godavari, so that they couldn’t be easily spotted or tracked. But they couldn’t afford to stray too far from the tributary rivers or other water bodies, for the best chance of hunting animals would be lost.
They had been surviving on dried meat and jungle berries or leaves, for long. Perhaps the Lankans had lost track of them, they thought. With the frugal food and constant marching, their bodies were weakening. So Ram and Lakshman had set out to hunt, while Sita and the Malayaputra soldier Makrant had gone to fetch banana leaves.
Secrecy was of the essence. So they were cooking their food in holes dug deep into the ground. For fire they used a very specific type of coal; anthracite, which let out smokeless flames. As added precaution, the buried cooking pot was also covered with a thick layer of banana leaves to ensure that even by chance, no smoke escaped, which could give their position away. It was for this that Sita and Makrant were cutting banana leaves. It was Sita’s turn to cook.
Unknown to Sita, Raavan’s Pushpak Vimaan had landed a short distance from the camp. Its ear-splitting noise drowned out by thunderous howling winds. Unseasonal rains had just lashed the area. A hundred Lankan soldiers had disgorged from the Vimaan, attacking the camp and killing most of the Malayaputras rapidly.
Some Lankans had fanned out to search for Sita, Ram, and Lakshman. Two of them had ambushed Sita and Makrant, who were on their way back to the camp. Makrant had died, hit by two arrows. One through his shoulder and the other through his neck. Sita had, through sheer skill, managed to kill these two Lankans, steal their weapons and reach the camp. There she had found that every single Malayaputra, except for Jatayu was dead. She had tried, heroically, to save Jatayu, but had failed. The Naga had been grievously injured trying to protect the one he worshipped as the Vishnu.
Kumbhakarna, the younger brother of Raavan, had ordered that Sita was to be captured alive. Many Lankan soldiers had charged at Sita at the same time. She had fought bravely, but was ultimately captured, incapacitated and rendered unconscious with a Lankan blue-coloured toxin.
They had quickly bundled her into the Pushpak Vimaan and taken off, just as Ram and Lakshman had reached the camp to find dead bodies strewn everywhere and the severely injured figure of Jatayu.
Sita couldn’t remember how long she had been unconscious. It must have been hours. She still felt a little groggy. Light was streaming in through the porthole windows on the walls of the vimaan. A constant, dull repetitive sound was causing her pain in her head. It took her some time to realise that it was the sound of the vimaan’s rotors, muffled by the soundproof walls.
Not soundproofed enough.
Sita pressed her temples to ease the pain in her head. It worked only for a few moments. The pain was back soon.
Then she realised something odd.
My hands aren’t tied.
She looked down at her legs. They weren’t tied either.
She felt her hopes rise.
Almost immediately, it deflated and she laughed softly at her own stupidity.
Where am I planning to go? I’m thousands of feet up in the sky.
That blue toxin has made me slow.
She shook her head slowly. Trying to clear it.
She was on a stretcher fastened onto a platform close to the wall.
She looked around. The vimaan was truly huge. She looked up. It was perfectly conical from the inside as well. Smooth metal all the way to the tapering top, high up. There was a painting at the summit. Her vision was a little clouded so she couldn’t see what it was. At the exact centre of the vimaan was a tall, perfectly cylindrical pillar, stretching all the way to the top. It was solid metal, obviously sturdy. She felt like she was inside a giant temple spire. But the interiors, while spacious and comfortable, had frugal furnishing. None of the luxurious and expensive accoutrements of most royal vehicles; or at least the royal vehicles in the Sapt Sindhu. The Pushpak Vimaan was basic, sparse, and efficient. Clearly, more of a military vehicle than one for pomp and show.
Because it placed function over form, the Pushpak Vimaan was able to comfortably accommodate more than a hundred soldiers. They all sat silently, disciplined, in regular concentric arcs on the floor, right up to the vimaan walls.
She could see Raavan and Kumbhakarna seated on chairs that had been fastened to the floor. Their seating area had been screened partially. A curtain hung from an overhanging rod. They weren’t too far. But they whispered. So, Sita could not hear much of what they were saying.
Still on the stretcher, she came up on her elbows. Making a heaving sound. She still felt weak.
Raavan and Kumbhakarna turned to look at her. They got up and started walking towards her. Raavan stumbled on his dhoti. Distracted.
Sita had managed to sit up by now. She sucked in her breath and looked defiantly at the two brothers.
‘Kill me now,’ growled Sita. ‘Otherwise, you will regret it.’
All the Lankan soldiers stood up, drawing their weapons. But at a signal from Kumbhakarna, they held their positions.
Kumbhakarna spoke, surprisingly gently, ‘We don’t want to hurt you. You must be tired. You woke up very quickly. The toxin given to you was strong. Please rest.’
Sita didn’t answer. Surprised by Kumbhakarna’s kind tone.
‘We didn’t know,’ said a hesitant Kumbhakarna. ‘I … I didn’t know. We wouldn’t have used that toxin otherwise …’
Sita remained silent.
Then she turned towards Raavan. He was just st
aring at her. Unblinking. There was sadness on his face. Melancholy. And, his eyes appeared strange. Almost like there was love in them.
Sita shrank to the wall, pulling her angvastram, covering herself.
Suddenly, a hand appeared. A neem leaf. And, the blue-coloured paste. Her nose.
Sita felt darkness enveloping her vision. Slowly.
She saw Raavan looking to Sita’s right, where the person who had drugged her was standing. There was anger on his face.
And, darkness took over.
Her eyes opened.
Diffused light streamed through the porthole windows. The sun was close to the horizon.
How long have I been unconscious?
Sita couldn’t be sure. Was it a few hours? Or many prahars?
She edged up, again. Slowly. Weakly. She could see that most of the soldiers were asleep on the floor.
But there were no soldiers around the platform where she had been sleeping.
She had been left alone.
Raavan and Kumbhakarna were standing near their chairs. Stretching their legs. Whispering to each other.
Her vision cleared slowly. Allowing her to judge the distance. Raavan and Kumbhakarna were not more than fifteen or twenty feet from her. Their backs to Sita. They were in deep conversation.
Sita looked around. And smiled.
Someone has been careless.
There was a knife lying close by. On the platform where her stretcher was affixed. She edged over. Noiselessly. Carefully. Picked up the scabbard and unsheathed the blade. Slowly. Without making any sound.
She held the knife tight in her hand.
She took some deep breaths. Firing energy into her body.
She remembered what she had heard.
Kill the chief and the Lankans capitulate.
She tried to get up. The world spun around her.
She sat back on the platform. Breathing deeper. Firing more oxygen into her body.
Then, she focused. She got up stealthily and crept towards Raavan.
When she was just a few feet from Raavan’s back, she raised her knife and lunged forward.
A loud scream was heard as someone grabbed Sita from behind. An arm around her neck. A knife pressed close to her throat. Sita could feel that her attacker was a woman.
Raavan and Kumbhakarna whirled around almost immediately. Most of the Lankan soldiers got up too.
Kumbhakarna raised his hands slowly. Carefully. He spoke in a calm but commanding voice. ‘Drop the knife.’
Sita felt the arm around her throat tighten. She could see that by now, all the Lankan soldiers were on their feet. She surrendered and dropped her knife.
Kumbhakarna repeated. A little harsher this time. ‘I said, drop the knife.’
Sita knit her brow. Confused. She looked down at the knife she had dropped. She was about to say that she had no other knife, when she felt a prick on her neck. The attacker, holding her from behind, had brought the knife in closer. Its tip drawing blood.
Kumbhakarna looked at Raavan before turning back to the attacker holding Sita. ‘Khara is dead. This will not bring him back. Don’t be silly. I am ordering you. Drop the knife.’
Sita could feel the arm clasped around her neck tremble. Her attacker was struggling with deep emotions.
Finally, Raavan stepped closer and spoke in a harsh, commanding, almost terrifying tone. ‘Drop the knife. Now.’
Sita felt the arm clasped around her throat relax. It was suddenly pulled back. And a soft whisper was heard.
‘As you command, Iraiva.’
Sita was stunned as she heard the voice. She spun around. Staggered. She fell back, holding the wall of the vimaan for support.
Willing breaths into her body, she looked again at the face of her attacker. The one who had wanted to kill her a few moments ago. The one who obviously had strong emotions for Khara. The one who obviously was under the complete control of Raavan.
The one who had saved her life once …
The one she had thought was her friend.
Samichi.
… to be continued.
Other Titles by Amish
Shiva Trilogy
Ram Chandra Series
Amish Tripathi, Sita: Warrior of Mithila
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